Page 50 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

I walked out of the study, the door closing behind me. The hallway stretched long, sunset streaming through stained glass windows, splashing colored light across the floor. I walked through those patches of light, moving fast, back straight.

I didn't look back.

Because looking back would be pointless. He stood there watching me leave—maybe with contempt, maybe with relief, maybe with nothing at all. I didn't want to know.

Back in my room, I started packing. The dress, the shoes, the comb. I stuffed them in a cloth bag and tied it shut. Then I looked around this room where I'd spent six months—the bed, the window, the little courtyard that once held flowers.

How many times had I waited for him here? Too many to count. Every night I thought he might come, I'd sit by the window, listening to footsteps in the hall, heart racing, palms sweating. Then he'd appear, we'd press close, listening to each other's heartbeats, then separate before dawn.

Sometimes in the sweat and breathlessness, I'd mistake it for love, but I always woke up in the morning.

Now I saw it—just him fulfilling his fated mate duties. Like feeding a pet—check in regularly, make sure it's alive, then go about your business with a clear conscience.

So I absolutely couldn't let him know about the baby. I wouldn't let my child become a tool.

I slung the bag over my shoulder and left the room.

The carriage bounced along the rough forest path, wheels grinding over stones with a constant creaking. I leaned against the wall, watching through the curtainless window as trees passed by one after another, the sky growing dark.

This carriage was from the palace. From Zane, to be precise.

He must be dying to get rid of me, so I wouldn't interfere with his sweet life with Leah.

Two drivers, four horses pulling the carriage, even a blanket and some dried food. Such thoughtful arrangements, right?

Like an executioner offering the condemned a last meal.

I pushed the blanket aside. I didn't want to touch anything he'd given me.

The carriage continued forward. I didn't know how long we'd traveled—maybe an hour, maybe two. The sky had gone completely dark, the moon hidden behind clouds, only occasionally slipping a few silver threads through gaps. The forest path grew narrower and harder to navigate, and the carriage slowed.

Then I heard a strange sound.

A sharp whistle split the night.

The horses screamed.

The drivers shouted.

Then a massive impact—something hit the side of the carriage. The whole thing tilted violently, throwing me sideways. My head slammed into the wooden panel. Stars exploded across my vision, ears ringing.

The carriage careened out of control for several dozen yards, then stopped abruptly—probably hit something. Momentum threw me forward, tumbling from the seat to the carriage floor. My shoulder screamed with pain.

I lay there in the darkness, gasping, trying to clear my head.

Outside was unnaturally quiet.

No drivers. No horses. Nothing.

Then I heard footsteps. More than one person. Boots on dead leaves, making soft crackling sounds, approaching the carriage.

My heart started racing.

I struggled up and pushed open the shifted door, stumbling out of the carriage. In the moonlight, I saw the two drivers lying by the road—motionless. The horses were down, a black arrow through the neck.

Then I saw them.

Six figures emerged from the trees like they'd condensed from shadows. They wore black leather armor, iron masks on their faces, looking like hounds from the underworld in the moonlight. They held weapons—longswords, daggers, crossbows—blades reflecting cold white light.